The King’s Birthday

The King would have been 76 years old today! I was a teenager when he came on the scene.

I remember well the day when my sons came into the kitchen whilst I was preparing supper and casually announced that Elvis Presley had died. My response was “NO!” Witnessing my emotional shock they responded, “Who was this guy?”

Red Poppy Memories

We cherish too, the Poppy red

That grows on fields where valor led,

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies. (We Shall Keep the Faith)

In November of 1918, inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields,” Moina Michael replied with her own poem, cited above. She then conceived of wearing red poppies on Memorial day to honor those who died serving the nation during war. She sold poppies as a fundraiser to benefit needy veterans. When Madam Guerin, a visitor to the United States from France, learned of this new custom she began making artificial red poppies to raise money for French war orphans and widows. The Red Poppy tradition spread to other countries. In 1921, the Franco-American Children’s League sold poppies nationally to benefit war orphans of France and Belgium. The League disbanded a year later and Madam Guerin approached the VFW for help. Shortly before Memorial Day in 1922, the VFW became the first veterans’ organization to nationally sell Red Poppies. Two years later their “Buddy” Poppy program was selling artificial poppies made by disabled veterans. In 1948, the US Post Office honored Moina Michael for founding the National Poppy movement with a three cent postage stamp with her likeness upon it.

The image, Poppy at Lion House, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

Prayin’ Someone’s Gonna Hear

To Beat the Devil

“If you waste your time a-talkin’ to the people who don’t listen,
To the things that you are sayin’, who do you think’s gonna hear.
And if you should die explainin’ how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin’, who do you think’s gonna care?

“There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
‘Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.

“Well, the old man was a stranger, but I’d heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.

“You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don’t wanna join him, you got to beat him.
I ain’t sayin’ I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing.
Then I stole his song.

“And you still can hear me singin’ to the people who don’t listen,
To the things that I am sayin’, prayin’ someone’s gonna hear.
And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin’, hopin’ someone’s gonna care.

“I was born a lonely singer, and I’m bound to die the same,
But I’ve got to feed the hunger in my soul.
And if I never have a nickle, I won’t ever die ashamed.
‘Cos I don’t believe that no-one wants to know.”

~~Kris Kristopherson

Whither Go My Words?

The Internet provides us the ability to craft our words into an art-form. We communicate by typing our language onto a screen; we click a button that sends our words into an infinite space. Whither goes our message? Who knows? Out there somewhere, or everywhere?

Communicate we must for combining this modern utility with our art we reveal our character. Our ancient ancestors did the very same with their utility of a natural marker, leaving for the ages a record of their thoughts on the walls of their cave homes.

And so it is with each and every blog post I make. I cast my words, my thoughts, into the ether. Are they communicative? Are they well-crafted words? Are they long-lasting? Are they powerful?

Field of Winter’s Dreams

Tulips and Hyacinths at Keukenhof Gardens, Lisse, Holland, 2006.

The image, Field of Winter’s Dreams, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

Christmas 2009

Christmas is Christians’ flawed attempt to honor the birthday of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He deserves better, but the harder we try to honor Him, the more we seem to diminish the celebration. I am certain that Jesus understands us better than we understand ourselves.

The image, Creche at Washington Cathedral, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

Stinson Book at Amazon

I was very pleased today, 25 November 2009, to see that my book “So Obscure a Person” in paperback was ranked #50 amongst Virginia genealogy books at Amazon.com.

The image, Stinson Book at Amazon, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

A Soldier’s Lament

This is one example of graffiti that occupying Union soldiers left upon the walls of Blenheim in Fairfax, Virginia during the War Between the States. This photograph is from the attic, however when wallpaper was recently removed from the main floors of the old Greek Revival farmhouse, graffiti was discovered everywhere. This “Soldier’s Lament” records:

4th Month

No money

No whiskey

No Friends

No Rations

No Peas

No Beans

No Pants

No Patriotism (underlined)

“Blenheim,” located at 3610 Old Lee Highway, Fairfax, Virginia, is a brick home built by REZEN WILLCOXON about 1858, to replace an earlier frame dwelling. This 12-acre former farm, includes a cemetery for several generations of the Willcoxon family who lived here. Blenheim is renown for its outstanding examples of Civil War soldier graffiti. It is currently being restored. The day we were there, a recent tropical storm had left many downed trees, but no damage to the structures.

The image, Soldier Graffiti, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

The “We” Word

‘WE’ is the word used to steal virtue from the good, to steal strength from the strong and to steal wisdom from the sages.

Ayn Rand in “Anthem:”

For the word “We” must never be spoken, save by one’s choice and as a second thought. This word must never be placed first within man’s soul, else it becomes a monster, the root of all the evils on earth, the root of man’s torture by men, and an unspeakable lie.

The word “We” is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages.

What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it? What is my wisdom, if even the fools can dictate to me? What is my freedom, if all creatures, even the botched and impotent, are my masters? What is my life, if I am but to bow, to agree, and to obey?

But I am done with this creed of corruption.

I am done with the monster of “We,” the word of serfdom, of plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame.

Occoquan Workhouse

On November 15th, 2009, there will be an historical marker dedication conducted by the Fairfax County Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution. The marking will honor the Suffragists who were imprisoned at the Occoquan Workhouse 90 years ago, between 1917 and 1918. The HBO movie “Iron Jawed Angels” dramatizes their struggle for women’s voting rights and the cruel and inhumane treatment they received at the hands of the federal government. Those women were imprisoned for wanting to have a voice and representation in their government , only 90 years ago.

Recently the old Occoquan Workhouse and the old Lorton Prison have been transformed into The Workhouse Arts Center, featuring many talented Virginia artists. The image, Occoquan Workhouse, was originally uploaded by Edna Barney. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.